


Grey Skin

by SelanPike



Category: Problem Sleuth (Webcomic)
Genre: Gen, Mobsterswitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 14:25:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14875470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SelanPike/pseuds/SelanPike
Summary: When he was in the desert, Peccant Scofflaw committed his one and only act of kindness.(Written as backstory for an old RP blog I don't run anymore.)





	Grey Skin

            You are Perspicacious Solicitor, and you need to find something to eat.

            Water’s fine. You stumbled on a spring earlier today and filled your canteen, so you’re good for at least another day or two. But you haven’t eaten in ages and you’ll do anything at this point.

            As you trudge up the latest sand dune in your path, you spy a lump sticking out of the sand some distance away. Hoping for the best, you stumble over.

            Looks like a body. Covered in shrouds similar to yours, so an exile like yourself. He’s curled up in a ball, face hidden under his hood. You can’t even tell whether he’s Dersite or Prospitian. Not that it matters.

            You crouch down and start rifling through his shrouds, trying to see if he’s carrying anything. There’s a canteen here. Good, you could use another one. No food.

            The thought flutters across your brain: you could eat him.

            It’s a despicable thought, even for a monster like yourself. But you are desperate, and hey, it ain’t like you’re the one who killed this guy.

            … except he’s not dead. As you continue frisking him, he eventually shudders and curls up tighter. You jump back in surprise, instinctively gripping the hilt of your Regisword. He moves his hand so that it’s no longer hidden under his head, and you notice his skin color immediately. It’s grey.

            You crouch down again, shoving him on his side. There’s a cloth scarf obscuring most of his face, and you pull it out of the way.

            Grey skin. He’s a shadow mage.

            Like you.

            You didn’t realize there even were any others. Derse took a pretty strong stance towards killing them all, what with their complete unpredictability. You only avoided that fate because you were protected by your amazing pulchritude, and this guy doesn’t look very pulchritudinous.

             He coughs. Before you can even think about it, you’re pushing your canteen to his lips.

            It’s against your very nature to help this guy out. To help anyone ever, really. You’ve only ever been concerned with looking out for yourself. What good is wasting your water on this guy going to do?

            Later on you come up with ways to justify it. Maybe he could help you hunt for food. Having someone with which to share body warmth during the long, cold nights might save your life. You aren’t thinking any of those things right now.

            He doesn’t drink. You slap him a little, thinking that he’s unconscious, but that only gets him to open his eyes and give you a weak glare with violet eyes.

            You resume pushing the canteen at him.

            “C’mon,” you say, your voice hoarse from dryness and disuse. “Drink up.”

            He doesn’t. He just stares at you in what you guess is a combination of distrust and fear. You smile at him, dusting off your pulchritude gauge and giving that a go.

            “Hey, don’t sweat it,” you say. “There’s a spring a few miles down th’ direction I came from. We can get y’ there ‘n refill both our canteens, so don’t worry ‘bout wastin’ my water or nothin’.”

            He eyes you for a moment longer before taking the canteen into his hands and drinking from it. He guzzles it down, coughs and sputters a bit, then drinks more. He only gives you the canteen back when it’s empty. You put the cap back on and stow it away.

            “Feelin’ better?” You pull at his arms, trying to get him upright. “Let’s get ya’ on your feet now.”

            It’s hard going. He’s in bad shape and can’t stand without leaning most of his weight on you. Thankfully he’s light, but he’s also the tallest person you’ve ever seen without a prototyping ring. “Jesus fuck, man, how do y’ even get that tall?”

            God you’ve missed giving people shit about things.

            He doesn’t answer you. You start walking back towards the spring, ascending the dune you climbed not too long ago. As you pull him along, you keep talking. “M’ name’s Solicitor. ‘sa dumb name, I know. Thinkin’ about changin’ it.”

            He doesn’t say anything.

            You give him a nudge. “What ‘bout you? Y’ got a name, yeah?”

            He looks at you, then away. His lips move a little, he coughs, then he says, “Inventor.”

            “Nice t’ meetcha, Inventor,” you say, beaming. “’m gonna call y’ Inny, that okay with ya’?”

            He doesn’t say anything. You take that for a yes.

            It takes a few hours, but you do make it back to the spring. The both of you drink up, then refill your canteens and spend a while just lying on the smooth rock, feet hanging into the small pond, staring up at the clouds.

            “May ‘s well get some rest now,” you tell him. “’f we’re very lucky, some hoofbeasts’ll come out at sundown ‘n we can catch some food.”

            He looks over at you, confusion in his wide eyes. You smile back at him.

            “What, didja think I was gonna just leave ya’ here?”

            He nods.

            “Y’ kiddin’?” You give him a light punch in the arm. He flinches. “’m gonna look out for ya’, okay Inny?”

            He doesn’t seem to comprehend.

            “We’re both shadow mages, yeah?” you say. “Prob’ly th’ only ones. Means we gotta stick together. We’re like brothers.”

            “B—Brothers?”

            You nod. “Yep. Brothers.”

            There’s a long silence between you. Then he nods. You give him another playful punch, and he frowns at you.

            “Now do like I said ‘n get some rest,” you say, stretching. “Huntin’s hard work, ‘fter all.”

            He hums, then closes his eyes. You don’t do the same, not yet. You just lay there for a while, staring at your newfound brother, wondering how you’re going to feed him when you can’t even keep yourself fed.

            You’re a god damned idiot.

            You sigh and roll onto your side. Oh well. You’ll figure something out. You always do.


End file.
